The poems posted here have been curated specifically for the website and don’t appear in the poetry anthology. If you’d like to submit a poem about gun violence in America for consideration on this site, please see our submission guidelines in the “Other Voices” drop menu.
By Mary McCoy An overwhelming sound rings… It’s the static on the PA. Expecting some sort of dismissal for some student, I stop listening. But the PA sounds once more. “We are under lockdown, This is not a drill.” “Ya sure!” I joke to my friends. We lock the door, turn off the lights, and … More Sound Rings
By Phyllis Meshulam A morning dawns, barely, with fringes of rain along the well-worn path to the daily paper. She is regulated by her body’s clock, still on Eastern time, as Melissa listens to the drops dribble and splat. Being home from her trip, it’s necessary to re-enter the daily routine, to plan her lessons, … More Infringed
By Ann Gustavson At least it wasn’t in a school, I think as I stand up and Walk to the window in my classroom. But how is this an okay thought? At least. How many more “at least” thoughts will I have to have? I look out at the blue Connecticut sky Trying to settle … More The Day After Thousand Oaks
By Charles Rafferty 1. Children Could Become Maniacs (Columbine) That’s what I learned from the radio as my daughter drank her bottle. 2. Question (Sandy Hook) What kind of gun laws would we have if 26 senators died crouching in their offices while the sunlight was dazzling the pens upon their desks? 3. Why You Died on a … More Triptych
By John Roche I am an armed teacher. Armed with knowledge. Armed with experience. Armed with expertise. Armed with compassion. Armed with passion. Armed with innovation. Armed with creativity. Armed with professionalism. Armed with curiosity. Armed with collaborative spirit. Armed with encouragement. Armed with responsiveness. Armed with resourcefulness. Armed with academic rigor. Armed with leadership. … More I am an armed teacher.
By Albert Lee we are angry … More Our Park Our Land
By Leah Brennan I hold it in my hand like a baseball— the glass apple paperweight inscribed with my name. I am trained to scan for objects, to weaponize the room, to lock the door from the outside, dismantle the workspace, reassign it to the front line, a hedge of student-chairs, impossibly small desks attached … More Paperweight
By Hakim Bellamy Son, if you came up missing your hood would not be able to find you. Unable to pick you out in a crowd, or a police lineup. If you made it that far. If they even came looking at all. Don’t be anonymous, child. Make sure you stick out like a … More Don’t Be Anonymous, Son
By Anna Leigh Knowles Years after the shooting, the local high schools decided to merge our theaters together for a musical. Columbine wanted to rebuild its reputation. I stayed in the background, sang in the choir. After a late rehearsal, one of the Columbine boys gave a small group of the cast a tour of … More Stage Production
By Eloísa Peréz-Lozano I want to shrink you down, tuck you between my breasts and rib cage, settle you into the valleys between bones, held in place by my supple underness, never explored. I want to protect you from madmen in schools, concerts, and churches angry at the cards they were dealt that they didn’t … More Hiding You Under Me
